The Translator
by Puredeadthingy
Summary: Angels Unlimited fic, crossed with Torchwood. Mel's sent to help a certain Jack Harkness. Her in? A Foamasi. Her cover story? Being able to translate any language. Short ficlet. Complete.


This was a crossover fic I wrote after the first episode aired, due to a dare. It's probably completely retconned now, but I thought I'd put it up here anyway. Reviews loved!

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It was a fight, all right, holding off on calming this alien until this Jack bloke showed up. I couldn't exactly yell at him in his own language; teachers were there, and they'd want to know who I was and why I was hiding in the PE bay. All I could do was watch and try to influence everyone to stop making the alien nervous.

(Teachers. And they're meant to be the smart ones. I ask you.)

My name's Melanie Beeby. To cut a long story short, died, went to heaven, now an ass-kicking celestial agent. And I'd just been Called by Jack. Humans don't know what they're doing, but when they're not doing well _at all,_ they send out a subliminal call for help. Someone's always listening out for you guys.

I can't tell you what it was like, one moment immersed in angel science, trying to debate with a stone (and those guys are _deep,_), the next feeling all floaty and dreamy, and the next getting a flash of an angry alien face and words in an American accent being spoken. Rather innuendo-laden, too.

Well, I think I traumatised my stone. Lola (my best friend and soul mate) took one look at my sweaty-cheese complexion and her hand shot up. Mr. Allbright gave her permission to get me something to drink, but I could tell he knew what was up.

As soon as I'd had a glass of water, my own, rather trembly hand went up. 'Can I go to the Agency, please? I just got The Call.'

Reuben made a face at me. He'd loved his stint on Earth, looking after a little boy at sea caught up in the Napoleonic wars. My previous Guardian Angel module had been taking care of Honesty Bloomfield, a girl in 1920's America. And since this was the next level, I was pretty sure this module was going to be harder.

I was granted permission and waved a hasty goodbye to Reuben and Lola. I always hate going solo then. But no time to dwell on it; ran down to the Agency, gave my ID to the guy at the desk, got whisked up to Depatures, got my info pack, Agency tags, phone and watch, and was just heading to a portal when I got pulled away by Michael.

Michael's our Head, an archangel. Poor dear's always jetlagged from some trip to Earth or whatever (normally it's my century that's causing all the trouble.)

'I'd advise to actually _read_ that information on Captain Jack Harkness, Mel,' he said sternly.

'I was going to!' I protested. Granted, I usually don't bother, but aliens? I so was not prepared.

'Hmmm.' He didn't look completely convinced. 'It's your century, Mel. And this Captain—well, just read his bio. It's heavier than the others, you may have granted? He's a time-traveller too. 51st Century-born. So he's going to believe things that some other people might not.'

'OK, but why should that worry me? I mean, he's not going to be able to sense me—'

'Actually,' he said pleasantly, 'You're going to be visible.'

'Oh, what!' I squeaked. Total brain-melt. The number of times I've screwed up on the materialising part. Oooh, let's see, there was that time on my first mission when I did it without permission and nearly got expelled. That time on my third one, where I'd dived through a wormhole and got me _and_ my mates visible. More recently, the mission where Brice, Lola and I were meant to be visible, but there was a portal disturbance (probably due to the Opposition), where the other two got cosmic amnesia and Brice nearly got himself killed as a human. (By a pirate, if you must know. With a Hell-issue gun.)

Michael smiled gently. 'Don't worry, Melanie. I have faith in you. We've secured a flat for you to live in on Earth, and Sally's written you a backstory. It's in the file. Your name's Lucy Wallace. Now go and change, and I'll have Al set up the portal.'

He reached out and ruffled my hair. 'Jack wouldn't have chosen you if you weren't exactly the girl for the job.'

There's not much you can say when an archangel's just OD'd you on vibes. I went to the loos and changed out of my stylish Angel-logo casuals and into standard 21st-century uniform; trainers, jeans, top and coat. Peeking through Jack's bio while I was there, I felt even more over my head.

Con-man. Army officer. Time Agent. Had already died once and was now incapable of doing so again.

_At least we'll have something in common,_ I thought grimly. I can't die. And I doubted that any Opposition agents would try to get at me while I was visible.

I dislodged his picture from his file while I was looking for my backstory. That, at least, gave me a nice surprise. He was _really_ fit.

_Back to business!_ My inner angel said. I guiltily coughed and looked over Lucy's history.

Sally apparently knew how to play to my strengths. Lucy's defining characteristic was that she could speak any language, and every angel can do that. She was 16, lived in Cardiff after moving with her Mum from London, but was now alone after her Mum ran off with some bloke she met at work. Lovely and tidy.

I eventually realised that I should have been at my portal a while ago. I scrambled to get to it and found, to my relief, that it was only just ready.

With a smile to Michael and Al, the maintenance guy, I was blasted out into time and space.

Back to now.

Picture a 16-year-old girl with green eyes and black flyaway hair huddling under shiny blue mats, trying to keep watch so some chirping alien, obviously scared, doesn't slaughter anyone by accident.

Now picture a black people carrier screeching outside, and a distinctly American voice saying 'Oh great, a Foamasi. Best hope it's not part of the West Lodge. Gwen sure picked a great time to go on holiday with her boyfriend.'

So, that was me, and then that was Jack. I could tell—not just from the accent, from a zing inside my chest I always get when I get to someone I'm going to be watching.

The teachers had fled. The double-doors opened, and three people walked in, an almost electric air about them. One had a gun. I decided I should probably step in now.

The alien—Foamasi—was clicking frantically. Taking a deep breath, I chirped back reassurance.

The three all looked at me. I ignored them for now as I sidled out of the PE bay, talking to it. 'Don't worry,' I was saying in its language. 'It's going to be fine. You wanna go home? Just calm down, stop running around, you're making them nervous. Let me talk to them, yeah?'

The alien chirped a yes and stilled. I turned to the group, gave them an awkward smile, and said 'It doesn't want to hurt anyone, you know. It just wants to get back home, please.'

Jack had a strange sort of smirk on his face. 'And how do you know?' he asked slowly.

I shrugged. The woman with the gun hadn't put it down yet. 'I just understood it.'

'And—and you can _talk_ to it,' said one guy in a London accent. 'Jack, she talked to it!'

'We all _heard_ her, Owen,' muttered the woman.

I shifted awkwardly, not really sure of what was going to happen next. If I'm totally honest, I was still revelling in the fact that humans could see me. I was trying to see what Jack was thinking, too, but it was harder with his brainwaves being all over the place. 21st Century ones are usually high-density, and Jack's were even faster.

'I think perhaps you and the alien ought to come with us,' Jack said. 'Owen, Toshiko, catch.'

He threw them packets of something. 'One pill per person,' he instructed. 'Say it's for the shock.'

'_Are_ you going to send it home?' I asked once the two had disappeared.

'I should be asking the questions,' frowned Jack. 'Who are you? Are you human?'

'My name's Lucy Wallace,' I told him. 'And I was born in London.'

'But are you _human?'_

'Yeah, I am. Look, will you let it go home?'

'Fine, fine,' he frowned. 'If you're human, how come you're not freaking out?'

'_I_ dunno. Delayed reaction?'

'And how can you speak its language?'

'I'm just good at languages,' I said stubbornly.

He sighed. 'I'm not going to get a straight answer out of you until I send this guy home, am I?'

'That's right,' I said, pleased he'd got it so fast.

Owen and Toshiko arrived just as I was telling the alien what was going to happen, and if it could please come in the car with us? They gave Jack some very long looks, but didn't say anything. The alien was in the specially-customised boot. I was in the back, along with Toshiko, strapped in and staring at the variable assortment of computer hi-techness before me.

I could tell the other two were burning to try and find out what I was about. Strangely enough, I couldn't tell with Jack, and I was meant to be attuned to him. I frowned, and tried adjusting my thought levels to his, but to no avail.

Toshiko was tapping something on the computer. I bet it was my alias. I could certainly see a lot of headshots as she scrolled down, anyway. To pass the time, I twisted round to see if the Foamasi was OK.

_How is it you can understand me?_ It chirped.

'I'm an angel. I understand any language ever invented,' I told it softly. 'My official name's Helix.'

'You're making me nervous,' said Owen, through gritted teeth. 'Can you stop eeking at it for five minutes?'

'She's just taking care of it, Owen,' said Jack. 'Maybe you won't get scratched all down your arm trying to take a sample if we ask her nicely.'

Owen glared, but short of crashing the car, there was nothing he could do. The alien chirped an inquiry.

'Yeah. I think maybe something _did_ crawl up there and die,' I said, trying not to laugh. 'But you'll be shot of him soon enough. I get the feeling if anyone can send you back, Captain Jack's the man.'

Eventually we stopped, outside some fountain I hadn't seen before. Jack beckoned, and walked forward, vanishing. I gasped and grabbed my tags. Wait—there he was, on a slab just outside of it. Owen and Toshiko drove off with the alien still in the boot, presumably to try and be a little more incognito. I waved, and walked up to Jack. He looked a bit unnerved.

'Can you see me? Has this thing stopped working?'

I realised my mistake, and let go of the platinum discs, embossed with the Agency logo.'Oh, no, I just…guessed where you'd be.'

His thoughtwaves jumped out loud and clear, even if I couldn't hear him. _She merits further investigation. _

Both elated that I'd got some sort of thing to work with, and worried that I'd fail the investigation, I struggled for something to say. Beyond 'You are far too pretty for my mind to be on the job all the time,' I was at a loss. Thankfully, he solved it.

'Will you step up here already?,' he said, bending forwards so only his head was in view. I did so, and could immediately see the whole of him.

'How did you suddenly go invisible?'

So maybe I hadn't read the bio thoroughly.

He chuckled. 'Didn't you learn anything else along with those languages?'

I didn't reply, just concentrated on keeping my balance as the slab suddenly went downwards.

And then we entered some kind of technology whiz-kid super-room. My mouth fell open. He looked pleased I was following his expectations this time. The workspace was completely amazing and futuristic. But then it was dark, and it looked somehow unfinished, and the glowing blue monitors of the computers contrasted weirdly with the various leads and cables hanging from the ceiling, and as for the pterodactyl—

Wait. _What?_

'Is that a dinosaur?' I said, barely able to keep the tremor from my voice.

'Yep. You can call it Bob, if you want to make the transition easier.'

'We didn't have any of _those_ back in—' I shut up.

Too late. He'd caught on. 'Back…?'

'Where I used to be.' I said awkwardly.

He gave me a considering look, and I could feel myself blushing. 'How old are you, Lucy?'

'Sixteen.'

'And you know all these languages…' he mused. 'But nothing about cultures.'

'I'm a time-traveller,' I offered.

His face darkened. 'You a Time Agent?'

_Well, yeah, in a manner of speaking._

'No! I just…stumbled into the Agency and…got sent here.'

He paused for a long while as he looked me over, trying to decide if I was telling the truth.

'I don't suppose you need a job? We need a translator.'

Agency timing is great, isn't it? A block was removed from his mind, and I could see a little more into it.

'Yeah, I could use one,' I said honestly, as Toshiko and Owen entered, cradling various samples they'd presumably taken from the alien before sending it home.

With a grin, Jack turned me to face them. 'Lucy Wallace, meet your new colleagues: Toshiko Sato, the girl to go for if you ever need to see what the Prime Minister's typing, and Owen Harper, medical genius. Toshiko, Owen, Lucy is going to be our new translator.'

'There's not enough room for another one in the car,' Toshiko pointed out, nodding at me. 'When Gwen gets back, I mean.'

_Oh, I intend for this mission to be over by the time Gwen gets back._ I thought, but I didn't say anything about it. Jack just flapped a hand at Toshiko. 'I'm sure we can work something out.'

I was still confused on my actual mission; the man had seemed rather happy. Dark side, true, but everyone has one of those.

Then I looked at him, and his eyes were fixed on a particular object; a hand in a glass jar full of bubbling liquid.

_Zing_ went my chest.

Toshiko had set up a makeshift desk for me, rigging up a PC and opening up a set of files for me to work on. Not my idea of fun, but you know. An angel's gotta do what an angel's gotta do.

Naturally I spent most of my first afternoon spying on Jack and doing as little translation as I could. I could do it like reading English, but letting them think I couldn't afforded more Jack-reading time, less work and more of a wage. I mean, we have the angelic trail mix, but...let's not talk about that.

We're encouraged to keep notes on our subjects, but I had a definite feeling that with Toshiko around, it'd be stupid to work on computer. I alternated between scribbling in my notebook and typing out long sentences of translated alien language.

**Captain Jack Harkness**

**Why Captain? Rank in army? Ask Owen?**

**Hand? Relation?**

**What times is he from?**

My computer pinged. I half-panicked I'd done something wrong; I always mess up with computers. Ask at the Angel Watch centre the next time you're there. (In my defence, I was still helping. They have no idea how my codes got put through to animals instead of humans.)

Owen So, Lucy.

Guest User Um. Hi.

Owen How did you convince Jack, then?

Guest User To do what?

Owen To give you a job.

Guest User Oh, he offered me one.

Owen Cool. So where are you set up?

Thank God for Sally's backstory.

Guest User Ninian Park road. I share a flat--with my big sister usually, but she's away.

…so maybe I tweaked it just a bit.

Owen Riverside way?

Guest User Mmm. Yeah. Hey, what's up with Captain Harkness and that hand? He keeps glancing at it.

Owen What hand? The one in the jar?

Guest User Yep.

My pen was poised.

Owen We don't know. He's protective of it, that's for sure.

…that was it?

Guest User Thanks 

I'd have to ask later.

I somehow managed to find my way home. Don't ask me how. My head was spinning. I mean, pterodactyl? A handsome American time-traveller conman who now headed a secret organisation?

I was half-wishing that I'd been set up. As I fumbled the key, I caught a flash of something at the corner of my eye, and my heightened senses immediately told me who it was: Owen, on some kind of mission to find out if I was who I said I was.

_At least you've got warning, angel girl,_ said Helix grimly. I hoped he'd leave soon; I needed to work.

I let myself into my flat and locked the door behind me, before surveying my surroundings. It looked happy, yet battered; second-hand furniture with tomato-coloured throws haphazardly positioned on them; a chunky old telly with a brick for a remote; a faded carpet and a pink fridge, circa 1960.

An angel on the job can always use sustenance. I sat back in front of the telly with a microwaveable pizza I'd found in the fridge, and tried to add to my notes.

**Owen says it's important. The hand.**

**Hang on, what the hell am I doing here? I need to talk to Jack.**

And to give Owen the slip…I needed to dematerialise.

I quickly checked. Yeah, he was still outside. I leant against the wall, grabbed my bag and my tags, and wished myself invisible.

Sorry for mucking up your psych evaluation, Owen, I thought as I passed him (and tapped him on the shoulder, just for fun), but I think your boss is in trouble.

I was right. Or…well, OK, not in trouble, but I could feel something was not quite right even as I hurried to the offices. I couldn't be bothered faffing about with the invisible slab of a lift, and instead beamed myself straight in, not tipping anything over, which was a first, and caught a glimpse of Jack Harkness, at his desk and staring at the hand.

It was almost grotesque, the way he couldn't keep his eyes off it. I suppressed a shudder as I sat opposite him and studied his features.

His guard was down. I could look into his mind.

Every human has a dream. It's why you're here. And if you keep on stretching to reach it, and it's achievable, then you're set for life. Jack's used to be discovering new things, and down that path lay a lot of things, true; but not ever staring at a severed hand in a case of bubbling water.

That wasn't to say he didn't have a dream now; he did. It was just not going to happen anytime soon, and his dwelling on it would get him team killed. He wanted to be back with the Doctor, whoever he was. Scanning through his memories and perceptions of the Doctor, it seemed slightly more likely winning the lottery whilst being struck by lightning in a blue moon.

So. Mission now officially changed to Get Jack To Remember Who He Was could either take a few weeks, or one hell of a night.

I picked the fast option.

Picture the air being bombed with golden vibes. Picture the air being so stiff with tingles it's hard to breath without inhaling inspiration and an uplifting mood. Imagine one tired angel girl doing all this until the air feels like shaken-up champagne.

Little by little, I helped him push that jar aside. The thing wasn't evil, not yet, and I trusted him to not return to it. It was fine to have a keepsake, oh, yeah, brilliant, but not to brood on it like you could stick it back together.

It was near morning when Jack finally passed out from sheer exhaustion, and another bloke walked in.

His eyes were drawn to Jack's desk, where the concentration of vibes were stronger, and especially to the jar. He picked it up, and, dazedly, walked to a safe I hadn't noticed before. He locked it up, and backed out, probably intending to wake his boss tactfully, with a fire drill.

It was time for me to leave. I took one last long glance at him (because really, how could you _not?_), and typed a quick note on Toshiko's machine.

I turned to beam back up to heaven, grateful the mission had gone so fast and he'd been so receptive, and I could have sworn I heard him mutter; 'Thanks, Lucy.'

By the time I'd realised it, it was too late.

I really should have said thank you back.

I know I'll get my chance soon.


End file.
